


Girl Problems

by Shadowed_Voices



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: A+ Parenting, Friendship, Gabriel Agreste Is Not Hawk Moth, Gabriel's trying okay, He's not doing a great job but he is trying, Identity Reveal, Insanity, Maybe - Freeform, Panic Attack, discussion of child neglect, discussion of eating disorders
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2018-11-17 06:30:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11269908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowed_Voices/pseuds/Shadowed_Voices
Summary: Chat Noir and Ladybug discuss crushes and start growing as people. Then everything goes... very wrong. Updates on Thursdays. Usually.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Legit just started writing for the first time in about a year. Have a weird oneshot.

They’re perched on a beam near the top of the Eiffel Tower, staring down at the starscape of lights in the city below. The moon is low on the horizon, the crescent glow laying gently on the curve of far away buildings. Patrol is over for the night. No Akumas. Only a few petty crimes. One dog with a fresh litter of puppies safely transported to a nearby shelter. It’s late, well past two in the morning and far past time for the superheroes to have left for bed, but they’ve been lingering later and later on the quiet nights, enjoying time together that isn’t spent fighting for their lives.

Chat sighs, stretching out on the beam and shivering as the chill from the steel seeps through his suit. Autumn has made everything cold these past few weeks. “My Lady?” he asks the night sky and at her hum of acknowledgment he curls up on his side where there is no chance of him catching her eye. “You’re a girl.”

“I thought you were aware of that.”

“Yes! It’s just - you’re a girl, so, you know more about girls than I do.” He tries desperately to ignore her giggles and the blush that erupts across his face. He’s trying to have a serious conversation here!

“Well I hope I would know more about girls than you. Otherwise I’d be doing a rather poor job of being one.”

Alright. He can see where she’s coming from there. Still, “Can I ask you a question? About real life?”

Real life. He says that sometimes. Being Chat Noir is more real to him than being the boy behind the mask. Adrien Agreste has to be perfect - the perfect model, the perfect son, the perfect student, the perfect product - but Chat, Chat Noir is free. Chat can fall on his face and make silly puns and run around the Paris rooftops laughing and shouting and chasing the woman he loved for her confidence, her charisma, her dedication. To be honest, he might not have even kept up with the superhero thing if it wasn’t for Ladybug.

“What kind of question?” Her tone is suspicious, cautious, but she hasn’t shot him down.

He scrambles to reply. “Nothing about you! And I won’t use names or anything, not even places or anything that could give any hint as to who I am or who I know or anything about that!” He sucks in a lungful of air and holds it, terrified, hopeful, ready to be disappointed but accepting if she says no.

“I suppose.” He lets out his breath. “So long as you’re really careful. Is the question about a girl?”

“Yeah.” He’s quiet for a long minute, trying to think of how to phrase things. “I met her about the same time I met you and she didn’t like me, but we’re friends now. Or, well, I think we’re friends?” He huffs, dangling an arm over the edge. Ladybug is quiet. Listening. “I want us to be friends. But, it’s just - it seems like every time we interact - she always acts so forced and I don’t know what to do to make it better! And our friends are no help because they’re nearly dating so they pair off all the time and that leaves us alone and she always runs away. Or she won’t even talk to me. Or look at me.”

He’d gotten loud somewhere there in the middle, frustration getting to him, but he’s nearly whispering by the end, a sad, confused breath of words because he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t get it. He lays on his belly and buries his face in his elbow.

"She hates me, doesn't she?"

Ladybug’s fingers brush hesitantly at the tips of his hair before sliding deeper, scratching gently between his ears. He must look a mess if she’s letting down her barriers this much. Merde he’s pathetic.

“Oh, Chaton, I don’t think she hates you.” He mutters something inaudible and grumpy into the metal beneath him. She tugs a bit on a fistful of hair. “No, Chat. Listen to me. How does she act with someone you know she doesn’t like?”

Chloe. No one actually seems to like his oldest friend and the longer he’s in school, the more obnoxious her behavior becomes. Perhaps that’s because he now has other friends to compare her with. And, as far as he can tell, Chloe is the only person Marinette doesn’t get along with. Well, Sabrina. But that’s still Chloe when it comes down to it. Which, in hindsight, is a terrible thing to think. Sabrina is definitely her own person and should be treated as such.

Alas, he’s gotten side tracked. It’s an easy thing to do with his Lady’s hand in his hair.

No. Concentrate.

“There’s a,” he doesn’t want to say it, to make that connection in his head, because it feels like a betrayal even though he knows it’s true, because he knows why Chloe is the way she is but that doesn’t excuse her behavior, “bully at school. Apparently they’ve been going to school together for a while and my friend tried to avoid trouble, but I’ve only seen her stand up for herself. And everyone else the bully targets.”

“Standing up for yourself usually takes direct confrontation.”

“I guess.”

“So she’ll face down a long-time bully. Yell at them?”

Chat huffs, remembering those early days of school when she knocked Chloe down a peg or two over the seating arrangements. “Yeah.”

“But she can’t hold a conversation with you.” To Chat’s eternal dismay, he makes a noise like a dying whale and contemplates throwing himself off the tower. “Chat, it sounds like she has a crush on you.”

For the first time since patrol ended, Chat looks up at Ladybug. His eyes are huge and his face warm. “What?” The idea is very nearly incomprehensible. Marinette? Have a crush on Adrien? He’s still trying to work out if they’re friends! It certainly doesn’t help that Ladybug is laughing at him.

“Sometimes girls get really weird around their crushes,” she explains through giggles. “It’s a bit like having a fever. You have an idea of what you want to say, but somewhere between your brain and your mouth everything gets garbled. And at a certain point you’re too embarrassed to even try and running away seems like it’s the best option. Because, if you run then you can’t embarrass yourself worse.”

He remembers Nino that one time he tried to ask Marinette on a date. His friend couldn’t do anything except smile and stutter out a few words. Adrien had to play wingman the entire time, and, come to think of it, Alya was the one doing all the talking for her and Marinette too.

“Boys do that too,” he says and rolls over again to look at the void above them.

They sit together on a beam near the top of the Eiffel Tower, a starscape of city lights beneath them. The moon dips below the horizon, the a faint light peaking over the curve of far away buildings. Patrol is over for the night. It’s late, just three in the morning and far past time for the superheroes to have left for bed, but they’ve been lingering later and later on the quiet nights, enjoying time together that isn’t spent fighting for their lives.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was asked to continue this on ffn, so here's another bit. Everyone is probably ooc

Adrien falls face first on his bed, school bag slipping off the edge where he carelessly tossed it and landing with a thud on the floor. Chloe had been extra clingy today, shrieking “ _Adrikins!_ ” in his ear whenever she saw him and latching onto his arm so that he couldn’t escape while she went off about shopping or herself or whatever it was he was talking about. He hadn’t been paying much attention, to be honest. He hadn’t been paying much attention to anything, which is probably why she managed to grab him so often. His mind had been focused on Marinette and Ladybug’s words from last night.

_“Chat, it sounds like she has a crush on you.”_

Marinette?

Kim got into an argument with one of the athletes in the year above them. Marinette stepped in between the two boys just as the fight was about to get physical, both of them larger than her by a fair bit, and somehow managed to calm things down enough to resolve a situation that very well could have led to an akuma tearing through the school. There was no stuttering or clumsiness from a girl Adrien has witnessed tripping over thin air. She wasn’t scared at all, presenting a seething Kim with her back as she lowered the older boy’s fists with gentle hands. Ten minutes and both boys were sheepishly apologizing.

When he joined their friends in praising her actions, she tripped over both her words and her feet before scurrying for the safety of her desk. It’s fairly standard for their interactions. She smiled at him, though. Said thank you.

Maybe Ladybug’s right and she doesn’t hate him.

But having a crush on him?

Girls have crushed on him before. He is well aware of how crushes on him go. He is Adrien Agreste, model, Gabriel Agreste’s only son. His father parades him around like a show pony, all dolled up and perfect. Girls do things like send him fanmail or stalk him. He’s a public figure, a celebrity, and just at the age where attention like that isn’t seen as creepy anymore so long as the girls are under eighteen. It’s still creepy. He’s barely fifteen. Before his father started having Nathalie screen his mail - which is both offensive and a relief - he found things like undergarments and death threats in among declarations of how pretty he was.

Creepy.

Marinette doesn’t do things like that. Ergo, she doesn’t have a crush on Adrien Agreste.

She still acts a lot like Nino when he was crushing on her.

So, maybe Marinette doesn’t have a crush on Adrien Agreste, but just Adrien? That would be…new. Also, terrifying, because he’s just learning how to be Adrien and not Adrien Agreste all the time. When put under pressure he falls back on Adrien Agreste or, more recently, Chat Noir. And, despite how she was acting that one time, she didn’t actually seem all that impressed with Chat. He knows what fake simpering sounds like.

Ugh, he needs to talk to someone about this.

His first and closest option, Plagg, is fast asleep in a trashcan full of empty Camembert wrappers. The obnoxious cat would probably just laugh at him, too. Does Ladybug have similar problems with her Kwami?

Nah.

Adrien goes through the list of people he knows. Nino is a no go because of his previous crush on Marinette. Despite nearly dating Alya now, Adrien is still fairly sure that would break a number of social rules. His father - well, he wouldn’t even know how to start that conversation even if he could corner the man long enough to try. Hey Dad! A friend of mine said that a different friend of mine might have a crush on me, but your over protective and isolating tendencies left me so socially stunted that I don’t know how to tell or what to do if she does! Help? Yeah. That would go over well. Asking Chloe would be a disaster. Asking Sabrina would be a bigger disaster. Nathalie? Nope, nope, nope. She gave him what he now knows is The Talk and that would just be an invitation for more embarrassment. Gorilla? Can he even talk?

This leaves one person.

Alya. Marinette’s best friend. The Ladyblogger. The one-time Lady Wifi who chose blackmail as her weapon.

He is going to regret this for the rest of his life.

AA: …I have a question.

His finger hovers over the send button, hesitates, and finally taps down. There. Perfect. Now, if she doesn’t respond within the next five seconds he can change his mind and not ask her about Marinette but rather about homework or—

AC: Wazzup sunshine child  
AC: Or is this a serious question that requires grammar?  
AC: I can do grammar.

Of course, this is Alya. There is zero chance of her not having her phone. Still, he has the option of going for a grammar-free non-serious question.

AA: Serious. Um hypothetical? But grammar optional?

AC: Shoot

AA: It’s about Marinette.

His phone remains frightfully silent for a long minute. Then, it buzzes, jittering across his pillow as Alya’s name pops up with a new text.

AC: A serious hypothetical question about my girl?

AA: Why do I feel like I’m about to sell my soul to the devil?

AC: Spill Agreste

He taps the microphone icon and closes his eyes so that he can’t see the words damning him on the screen. “I was talking to a friend and we started talking about crushes and somehow Mari came up and she said Mari might have a crush on me but I didn’t think so but there’s no one else I can talk to and I thought of you because you’re Mari’s friend and—” He presses send without finishing the thought or looking at it and fairly throws his phone across the room. It’s vibrating before it even hits his desk, clattering and dancing over the wood until it falls off the edge, humming intermittently against Plagg’s trashcan.

Annoyed, the little god phases through the metal and paws the the phone until it stops making noise. “Oh, this is golden!” the cat crows. Adrien, petrified on his bed at what he just did, can only stare in horror. Plagg clears his throat. “BUWAAAAAHHHAHAHAHHAHA! Did you just realize the sky is blue, model boy? I knew you were an unobservant, clueless little shit, but I didn’t realize you were this oblivious! I mean, come on, the girl practically falls apart whenever you so much as look at her, it’s not exactly hard to figure out!”

“Plagg!” Adrien finally regains enough sense to scramble off his bed and flail at his phone wielding kwami, but the cat, still cackling, darts towards the ceiling with his prize. “Give that back!”

And apparently magic comes with texting skills because from his position sprawled uselessly on the floor, Adrien can see Plagg pawing at the microphone. “You have no idea how dumb this kid is, reporter girl.” He shoots a cheeky grin down at Adrien. “Send.” A moment later, the phone buzzes again. “Ah. Not the same friend, no, but I have to listen to his heartsick rambling anyway. Send.”

On the floor, Adrien buries his face in his hands and considers smothering himself.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: panic attack

"Ladybug! Ladybug!"

"Ladybug, over here!

"Please sign this!"

"Sign mine first! Me first!

"Ladybug!

"What's it like being a superhero?"

"Do you have any other powers?"

"Ladybug! How does Lucky Charm work?"

"How do you fix everything?"

"Ladybug!"

"Who are you behind the mask!"

"Sign this! Please!"

"Did you have problems defeating this akuma?"

"What are you and Chat Noir doing to stop Hawk Moth?"

"Ladybug, I love you!"

Everywhere she looks there are cameras flashing and things being shoved in her face, people shouting to be heard over on another, her name a garbled mess in between questions asked too quickly for her to even think about an answer. There are people, people, people everywhere, pushing and shoving, everyone vying for her attention and crowding and it all becomes too much too quickly because she needs to leave, she needs to leave right now, there's an annoying beeping in her ears that's important but it keeps beeping and everyone keeps talking and they're all too close and touching and yelling and she can't hear anything but a wall of noise and they all want something, they keep touching her and she needs to leave can't breathe, can't breathe, too close can't breathe—

There are arms around her middle, warm, black leather pressed against her face, the noise suddenly a static hum against a backdrop of familiar and safe. "Sorry, everyone," she can hear, feel, rumbling through her ears and bones, "but it's been a long day and our transformations are about to wear off. We'll see you next time." And then she's airborne, still cradled in the familiar safety of her partner's arms.

He sets them down somewhere. She doesn't know. Doesn't care. Doesn't want to let him go despite the insistent beeping.

"Ladybug," he whispers. "You're about to change back now, so I'm going to leave, because even if you don't want me to right now, you'll regret this later. So, I am going to give you instructions and you are going to follow them as soon as the transformation wears off. Understood? Nod if you understand." She nods. "Very good. We are behind College Francoise Dupont. When I leave, you are going to call a friend and have then come pick you up. Tell them to take you straight home. Do you understand?" She nods. "Can you do this?" She nods again. "Good girl. I'll see you later." Then he's carefully unwrapping her and settling her on the ground, that nasty, choking, breathless sensation rises like bile in her throat again, but with another murmured, "Good girl," he's gone and Ladybug is whisked away in a flash of pink light.

Marinette gasps out a sob, terrified and alone, but Chat's instructions settle across her mind like a mantra and she can think just enough to fumble out her phone and press Alya's name until it rings.

"Hey, girl, what's up?" sounds tinny over the speaker but Chat said, he said…

"C-come get me."

"Mari? Shit, are you crying? What happened?"

"Come—" her voice breaks and she chokes on tears, on the fear bubbling like acid across nerve endings. No. No. Chat said. Chat said. "Come get me. Please."

"Okay. I'm coming. I'll be right there. Tell me where you are."

We're behind College Francoise Dupont. Chat said. "S-school. Behind the school. Co-come get me."

"Ten minutes, Mari. Promise. I'll be right—get out of my way!—I'll be right there. Stay on the phone, Mari, okay? Can you tell me what happened?" What happened? She presses against the brick, scrabbling at dusty cement with useless feet at she tries to press back, away, and the world is so big, too big, and she's even smaller without Ladybug where there is never enough room, everything crowding and touching and— "No. Mari. Marinette, listen to me. You're not listening to me. I need you to listen. It will be okay. Just listen to my voice okay? I'm almost there. Just another minute and I'll be right there."

Feet skid around a corner and all too soon Alya is crouched in front of her, entire body heaving as she sucks in air. Marinette closes her eyes and lets the phone fall from numb fingers. Alya. Chat said call a friend and Alya is a friend. Alya's here. Alya's safe. Now what? Call a friend. Go home. "I wanna go home."

"Okay, Mari," Alya pants, "but I need to know if you're hurt."

Hurt? Was she hurt? That akuma threw her off a building. There was definitely a crack when she hit the balcony. The Lucky Charm fixed it. There's no pain anymore. "No. Wanna go home."

"Okay." Alya grabs a wrist and pulls Marinette's arm over her shoulders, heaving them both upright in a matter of seconds. Alya is safe. Chat told her to call a friend so she called Alya because Alya is safe. Alya is taking her home. Home is safe. The only thing safer is Chat. Chat who left. Chat who left to protect her. To keep her safe. Chat who told her to call Alya because Alya is safe and can get her home safe where it's quiet and safe because her room smells like cookies.

Her room smells like cookies.

Alya wraps a blanket around her shoulders and carefully closes the trap door after saying she'll be back in a few minutes with something warm to drink. Marinette works on taking her first deep breath. She doesn't vomit all over the floor. That is an excellent step one. She takes another breath. A third. Tikki, precious Tikki, snuggles against her face for a moment, like a quick hug, and backs off to her den of fabric scraps and cookies. Another breath.

She risks a glance out of her blanket cocoon and ends up face to face with a picture of Adrien Agreste. Maybe it's just her mood - this was her first panic attack as Ladybug - but beneath the makeup and the editing and the perfect model smile, he looks just as exhausted as she feels. Is this what it's like for him? A constant barrage of cameras and demands? Expectations of perfection? And, he can't even escape. Ladybug can turn back into Marinette, but Adrien can't do that.

Does - does she act like those people out there? Hounding him for attention? She doesn't touch, not like they did to Ladybug, everyone invading her personal space and pushing, pulling, grabbing - she breaks away from that thought with a full body shudder. She will not be dragged back into panic. But, hasn't she done worse things? Or, if not worse, than similarly invasive even if he didn't know she did them? She stole his phone. She went through his trash. She has his pictures taped to her walls.

Never mind. No. She's going to throw up.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those I promised an update to on Thursdays, sorry it's late. I spilled tea on my computer Thursday and decided to play it safe and leave it off for a bit.

Ladybug dangles hundreds of feet above certain death in a net of yoyo string, the yellow glow of city lights casting flickers of orange over her suit from below. The nights are getting colder. Sharp gusts of wind burst chase a pregnant moon, bringing along the taste of rain and the faint static of far-off lightning. A storm, not even on the horizon and the warning bells chime.

Nothing can touch her here.

It's been a quiet week since the last akuma, since her first panic attack as Ladybug, since she faltered, public mask breaking to show the girl underneath. A terrified girl. A girl who doesn't know how to handle being a good daughter, a good student, a good friend, and a superhero.

Before Tikki - before Hawkmoth and Chat Noir and anything even remotely magical - she only had balance being a good daughter and a good student. She was passing friends with her classmates, but nothing that extended past school grounds. And she was content with that. Happy. Then came Alya and Tikki and Chat and suddenly all of Paris wanted something from her and Ladybug doesn't now how to deal with that.

Too much too fast.

Leather scrapes against metal and a quick patter of footsteps as Chat drops onto her beam. An open baton is shoved into her face, displaying a youtube compilation of pole dancing. "Hey! Hey, LB, do you think I could do something like this?" he exclaims. She glances up at him to find him dangling sloth-like from her beam, excited grin dazzling in the faint glow of the sleeping city. She looks back at the video.

"I see zero practical use for this," she informs him and the hand holding the baton droops. "Unless," she adds, "you want to improve your balance or something. Your baton usually isn't secured vertically like this."

"I bet I could figure out how to do it without securing the baton." His voice is no less exuberant and she can't help but laugh. "Besides, I can come up with like, five reasons why this would be an amazing thing to learn outside of the costume."

Without thinking, Ladybug asks, "Oh?"

She can hear the grin in his voice. "Definitely. My father would probably have a heart attack. I'd be able to act like me outside of costume. Have you see what some of these people can do with their bodies? I can't even do that now! My best friends could probably do something extremely technical and turn me into some sort of internet legend. I could be ripped. Um… wait. How many was that?"

Ladybug can't help the laughter that bubbles from that hallow space between her ribs. She feels lighter than she has in weeks, supported only by her yoyo and Chat's immutable optimism. Chat hauls himself back up on the beam properly. There's probably a smug little smirk on his face. Well, he can keep it. Just this once. He's been trying to cheer her up all week, after all.

It's not too late, minutes sneaking shyly past the midnight hour, but the dark of the sky and the sea of lights glittering beneath her remind her of that late night they spent talking. There's a girl out there with a crush on the boy beneath the mask. There's a girl out there who probably looks at him like he hung the moon, but only when he's not looking. There's a girl out there who has a crush on half of who her kitty is, because these masks give a lot a freedom despite the weighty responsibilities that follow.

How much does she know about Adrien? He's Nino's friend and Chloe's friend. He's nice to everyone. He's terribly smart. He likes video games. He's busy all the time between school, photoshoots, fencing, basketball, and modeling. He's Gabriel Agreste's only son. He was so nervous those first few days of school, and still muddles social cues sometimes. He's used to being disappointed.

Between the magazines and interviews and his face being plastered on half the age appropriate advertisements in Paris, she forgot all those thing. She forgot the boy in the rain who was so sincere in his apology. She forgot the brilliant, breathtakingly happy smile he wore when she forgave him, and apologized for jumping to conclusions just because he's friends with Chloe.

Chloe, who, on the first day of school, was talking about Adrien Agreste, her famous model best friend. Chloe, who latches on to him every chance she gets, cooing and pressing close to try and get a kiss despite how obviously uncomfortable he is with the entire thing. Chloe, who tricked him into autographing a poster and then publicly displaying it.

Chloe, who is doing the same thing Marinette was doing not so long ago, just louder. Brasher.

Nathanael, Evillustrator, was right. Ah, yep, there's the nausea again.

"Ladybug?" Chat's voice is abrupt and startling, centering. She isn't Marinette right now. Marinette's problems don't touch Ladybug. The nausea fades to manageable levels and the disapproving hum of wings in the back of her mind is easy to ignore. "Are you alright?"

"Better now," she answers honestly. It feels so good not to have to lie. Lie to her parents, her teachers, her friends. Lie to Chat, to reporters, to her fans. She hates lying and every chance she has to tell the truth is like a breath of air while drowning. "Would you mind if I asked you a question, Chat?"

"Of course not, My Lady."

She smiles at the stars and breaths in the scent of rain and power. "Change is a good thing, yes?"

She can feel him lay down across the yoyo string, probably doing that silly cat thing again where all his limbs dangle off the sides of the beam. "Well, I suppose it depends on the type of change. I changed when I became Chat Noir. It was one of the best things that has ever happened to me. Hawkmoth changes people by manipulating them in a moment of vulnerability. That's not a good change."

Ladybug laughs again. She can't help it. "Nothing quite so dramatic," she assures. "Just, hypothetically," she teases, "if there was a girl who fell in love with a boy for all the right reasons, but circumstances and her own inattention led to her focusing on the superficial - that would be a bad change?" He makes a vaguely agreeing noise and she carries on. "Then, different circumstances let her see that change. And she wants to fix that. That would be a good change?"

"It could be," Chat says, "but I think it also depends on why and what she wants to change. Does she want to change being in love? Does she want to change how she sees him? Does she want to change for him, or for herself?"

The last one strikes her, nearly physical with its impact, and it leaves her breathless. Who is she changing for? The guilt-panic-sick from last week when she spent most of a day tearing pictures off her walls and reorganizing her room until the evidence of his lack of presence was gone - who was that for? Before, the answer would be Adrien. He deserves better than a quiet stalker Chloe-clone. But that was the sort of attitude that got her into this mess to begin with. Is she changing for herself? To better herself? So that she can be proud of herself while outside the mask? Or is she changing to alleviate her guilt?

"I don't know," she whispers and takes Chat's hand when it dangles by her shoulder, clinging to his silent support. "I don't know."


	5. Chapter 5

Alya is… conflicted. A couple weeks ago, Adrien figured out that Mari has a crush on him. She's been waiting for the best time and place to spring this on her best friend, but between rising akuma attacks, school deciding that they need eight hours of homework a night, and the girl never being where she supposed to be - well, there hasn't really been an opportunity. Then she had that panic attack, and, no Alya is not dumping emotionally rife news on her best friend when she's already unbalanced. That like sending an engraved invitation to Hawkmoth.

So she's sitting on a rather large secret, watching Adrien retreat into a pensive, apprehensive, scarily polite shell, watching Mari lie with a smile even as she skirts the edges of crowds, and is trying to keep on top of both homework and the LadyBlog. She is conflicted.

Her only respites are Nino, and the blunt and harshly sarcastic "Plagg" who texted her a number to reach him at a few days after their conversation on Adrien's phone. He'll text her sporadically with updates on Adrien's continued moping, his increasingly hectic schedule, and, occasionally, snippets of historical information about Ladybug and Chat Noir that she has to get really creative in her google searches to verify.

Nino, on the other hand, hit conflicted about eight months ago and was akumatized for it. He has long since moved on to worried, exasperated, and is edging into pissed off. He's known Marinette since they were five and she punched Chloe in the face after a week of harassment and stealing all the best toys. That's still one of his best memories of school, alongside adopting a lonely sunshine child. Still, the girl he's known for ten years as immutable optimism and vindictive kindness, has recently been showing signs of strain. Actually, she's been showing signs of strain since starting cóllege. That is when the akuma attacks started, so everyone's been a little off, but recently, that strain has skipped merrily into the land of exhaustion and fear. As far as he knows, Marinette's never had any close friends. Birthday parties when they were little were always a class invitation for an afternoon as the bakery. No one invited her to playdates. No one went out of their way to play with her during breaks. She's never been in a club. He knows this because he was the same way. Both were happier in their outcast bubbles than they were trying to integrate into the masses. Nino had his music and Marinette had her designs, and every once and a while they'd spend breaks quietly doing their own activities in the same general area. Being alone has never bothered her. Not noticeably. And it's worrying, stressful, alarming that there's something going on now - now, when she has him and Alya and Adrien as actual close friends - that is causing the circles under her eyes and the shadows in her gaze.

It's Adrien, however, who has him on the edge of anger. He may have only known the kid for a year and a half, but in that time the boy has to have lost at least five kilograms since then, probably more, and he was already verging on underweight in Nino's not so professional opinion. According to the model, Nathalie says that his dietitian says that he's hitting a growth spurt, so his weight should even out soon. According to the internet, that could be true, but Nino's convinced that the boy's just not getting enough to eat. He scarfs down salads with fat free, sugar free, taste free dressings and his carefully regulated protein-carb mixture that usually resembles fancy cardboard. And he downs bottle after bottle of water until those ridiculous pee breaks he takes in the middle of akuma attacks actually makes sense.

Once, with the sort of fatal curiosity that inspires people to poke sleeping dragons with a cattle prod, Nino followed Adrien's diet for an entire month. Even without fencing, basketball, modeling, and whatever else Mr. Agreste decides his son needs to do, Nino felt like his stomach was eating its way through his spine by the end of week one. He'd been lethargic and cranky by the end of the month. While he hadn't actually lost weight, well, he's not nearly active as Adrien, who somehow still manages to be the literal embodiment of sunshine.

The pair meets before class starts every day. Usually they're the first in the room, which gives them ample time to speak face to face about their friends and worries. Nino learns that Adrien know. Alya learns of Adrien's suspected starvation-diet. They both discuss Marinette's emotional state and how to settle things before a certain supervillain notices.

"Normally I'd say just get her alone with Adrien, but given the givens," Alya grumbles around a a mouthful of croissant she swiped from the bakery. She waves the rest of it negligently by Nino's face, temptingly close, but she's making a point, not offering a bite. Rude.

Nino wipes the scattered crumbs off his the lid of his coffee. Coffee, some sugary monstrosity he doesn't know the name of but adores for the fact that it's as large as his head, has six shots of espresso and cinnamon-maple syrup, is his lifeblood. "Given how he's been acting these past couple weeks, I don't think he knows how to deal with crushes that can't be handled with a scripted response from his father. Nathalie. Whatever."

"Sleep?"

"I've only ever seen her sleep in math."

Alya groans, thumping her head down on the desk. She peers down at him through her lashes. "What if we drug her?"

Very carefully, Nino sets his coffee on his desk and turns in his chair so that he's facing Alya head on. He places his hands on her folded arms. In a very serious tone, he says, "Drugging your friends is a bad thing, Alya. Drugging anyone is a bad thing. Please don't get arrested and I'm never letting you near my food." She shoves a hand in his face and pushes him away, laughing.

"Not like that, silly." She grins. "Just, chamomile and peppermint. Soothing things. Tea. Granted, I've never seen her drink tea, but I bet I can get her to do it if I say I made it." For all that Alya's mother is a top chef, Nino's fairly certain his friend can burn water.

"Maybe just buy her something," he suggests. She throws a chunk of another croissant at him, obviously following his line of throught. Rude, but hey, free food. "But what about Adrien?"

"Pin him down until boredom forces him to fall asleep and then kidnap him to reaches unknown where we can feed him fit to burst."

Nino wonders how desperate he is that Alya's not at all serious idea actually sounds tempting.

By this time, there are enough other people in the room that they are forced to stop the conversation. Most wouldn't care that they're trying to figure out how to take care of their friends, but Rose can get a bit gossipy and Sabrina reports to Chloe. It's a good thing, too, because Marinette stumbles in early for once, scrubbing at mostly closed eyes and yawning painfully wide. She collapses face first into her desk just moments before Adrien enters the classroom, similarly exhausted, but not allowed to show it.

Nino tries to start a conversation. Despite the sunlight drifting through the windows, Adrien agrees that it's raining terribly and the penguins in the garden should probably find shelter on the sun. He does, however, eat an entire granola bar bit by bit as Nino sneaks small chunks under restless fingers. Alya is having less success with the mostly comatose Marinette, going to far as to poke her cheek with the remaining croissant before giving up and going back to texting the mysterious Plagg. Considering how out of it they both are, Nino makes a sacrifice.

"Hey, dude, wanna drink?"

"Hmm? Sure." Adrien grabs the offering and manages a full minute of quiet sipping before it hits. Nino's not sure if it's the caffeine or the sugar, but her pales, pupils dilating, and tips sideways off his chair as all of his muscles lock. He ends up choking and sputtering on the floor, looking rather a lot like a cat who has eaten something nasty.

Nino grins and turns towards Marinette.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You may notice a theme in this chapter. That's basically my state of mind right now.

Chat Noir trips through the window just as his transformation ends, sending Adrien sprawling onto the floor. It's half past two in the morning. The last four hours were spent fighting an akuma, a water elemental called Breathless, and, really, all he wants to do is curl up and sleep. The ever present threat of Nathalie finding him like that keeps him from doing so, however, and he claws his way to his bed to collapse into unconsciousness.

Not even three hours later, the sun still far beneath the horizon, Plagg is pawing at his face and grumbling about another akuma. Chat Noir trips across Paris and nearly crashes into a cranky, tired Ladybug. There are no words between them, just miserable looks at the glistening streets coated in tar and oil. Firestar grins, manic, and the fight begins.

Adrien is only just in his room when his alarm goes off at seven, and contemplating his bed at five past when Nathalie strides into his room and demands he begins his shower. He shoves Plagg in the mini fridge with the cheese and sits on cold tile rather than actually stand though his shower. Breakfast seems even more lacking and tasteless than usual. His standard Monday schedule is produced - school, photo shoot during lunch and the hour after, school, Chinese lessons, photo shoot, dinner with Gabriel. Then he's at school and doesn't actually remember getting there.

Nino's in the classroom first, as always, twisted towards Alya, their heads bent together in hushed conversation. Adrien blinks at them several times from the doorway, haphazardly noticing that minutes pass every time he pries open his eyelids. Then, both Nino and Alya are turned towards him, strange expressions on their faces and a body thumps into his back.

It's almost enough to send him crashing to the floor.

Marinette, looking more than half asleep, stumbles back from where she face-planted between his shoulders and nearly trips back into an oncoming rush of older students. Reflexes, and a burst of adrenalin that he's going to regret once it wears off, have him snatching up her wrist and tugging her back into the relative safety of the doorway.

"Careful," he says, already feeling drained. She blinks up at him and it takes several moments for recognition to bloom in those blue, blue eyes. There's no stuttering, no flailing, no exhaustive apologies. She just nods. Lists to the side. Straightens. Blinks again, slow, like it takes all her effort to keep her eyes open. He knows the feeling.

It's the start of a bad week.

Ladybug longs for the quiet hours on top of the tower with her kitty as Starbright plunges the noonday city into artificial darkness, power outages spreading in sweeping waves with the tidal press of a premature night. Alya's safe, at least. Her phone one of the first devices taken out, and with no way to record, she fled to safer grounds with Nino. She doesn't know where Adrien is. Hopes he's safe too, gone with the crowd of evacuees while she searched for a place to transform. She doesn't have the time or energy to spare worrying about him, though.

It's getting easier to fight blind. Chat Noir can see in the dark. The soft chime of his bell alerts her to his location and movements, allows her to follow him through pitch black streets, muscle memory and long hours traversing the city by yoyo keep her by his side. His baton scrapes the ground as he launches himself up, forward, and she twists to snag a streetlight, throwing herself at the akuma right after him.

It's getting easier to fight blind, but that only means it's no long impossible. It's hours before they corner the akuma, before Chat swipes the item away and the little black butterfly is purified. True night greets them with rain-heavy clouds when the storm of ladybugs passes. It's still dark and quiet. Too quiet. The citizens of Paris waiting out the fight well out of the line of fire.

Ladybug and Chat Noir lean heavily on each other even as their miraculouses beep a countdown. They're in the middle of a dark street. It will be the work of moments to walk in opposite directions and not look back. Just, no right now. Not when Ladybug's entire being still aches from several impacts into the ground, buildings, trees. Not when Chat's sides are still heaving from the exertion. Not when neither of them can work up the energy to stand.

Or care.

"It's good tactics," she says finally. Needs something, anything, to excuse the loitering. "Wearing us out like this."

He grunts agreement, wriggles around until they're back to back and not collapsed in a haphazard puddle of awkward limbs. "It only works because we're reactionary," he pants.

They stay like that for nearly thirty minutes, half dozing in the street even after the transformation drops and their kwami fall, sleeping, in their laps. Then, phones chirping demandingly, they struggle to their feet and walk into the darkness. They don't look back. They'll see each other soon enough.

Marinette's parents scold her. Alya yells over the phone. Tikki glowers at her cookie, refusing to eat until Marinette pokes something edible down her own throat. She manages a solid five hours of unconsciousness before explosions shatter the pre-dawn air and flames blister across the sky. She's halfway across town the next time she's aware of what she's doing, facing off against someone Chat nicknames Hotshot.

They tear him down just as they have all the others, but sleeplessness drags the fight out longer than it should. Ladybug makes it home in time for her alarm to ring. Marinette makes the executive decision to grab her back and try to sleep in the classroom. Better than missing an entire day because she fell into bed. She's the first one there so she steal Nino's seat. It's closest. Her own seat involves stairs.

Adrien is of the opinion that Marinette is a genius and it quick to follow her example when he arrives at school a good hour before first bell and finds her curled up in Nino's usual seat. He settles into his own place and places his head on his folded arms. Hopefully, he can get the full hour of sleep before class starts.

Second period brings an akuma that keeps Chat and Ladybug busy for hours. Chat decides then and there that teleportation is a stupid power and whoever thought of it should step on a Lego. Twice. Adrien misses an entire day of school and forges an email from Nathalie to cover his absence. Then his photo shoot is interrupted by another akuma, and the third of the day pops up right after they finish defeating it.

Quality of the villains has been lacking, but the superhero pair has been slipping up just as often. Silly mistakes they haven't made since the beginning of their partnership begin cropping up again and they're bruised even through the magic by the end of the fight.

Wednesday's dawn glimmers traitorously on the horizon. The day itself brings five separate akuma, each weaker than the one previous by a significant margin, but so too are Ladybug and Chat. So too are Tikki and Plagg. Transformations wear off faster. Powers grow weaker. Every cataclysm, every lucky charm, every cleanse of the city seems to draw power from their bones. They stumble into alleys together and pretend their eyes are closed because they're keeping their identities secret, not because they can't keep them open. They don't even make it home until Thursday afternoon and even then it's only for a few minutes before they're called out again.

Friday is quiet.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I'm back! Sold my soul to calculus and nanowrimo for a bit there. But I'm back to Girl Problems.

Friday.

 

Marinette wakes to the sound of rain on sheet metal, her back freezing, but her front pressed against a warmth that smells distinctly like Chat Noir despite the fact that her nose is tucked under fabric, not leather. Under the quiet wash of falling water, the city hums with activity. Traffic easing through the streets. The indistinct chatter of people. Pigeons and other small animals cursing the rain. No one is screaming. The air is clean, full of the scent of safety and trust. Her body, heavy and aching and desperate, urges her back into sleep.

 

Adrien wakes to a numb arm and cold cement leeching heat from his body, but he’s curled around something warm and soft, and he can’t resist wrapping tighter around it, basking in the scent of safe-warm-home-Ladybug. There’s rain, but it’s not falling on him. Unimportant. A soothing background noise that drowns out the normal sounds of the city. It’s calm and quiet. It reminds him of nights spent on the highest peaks of the city even if the light filtering through his eyelids suggests daytime. Plagg is a comforting, familiar weight tucked up under his chin. No one is screaming. He follows the darkness when it beckons him to sleep.

 

They fell asleep still in costume, in some tiny rooftop garden that hasn’t seen human hands in years, dawn a glimmer of dirty grays on the horizon. They fell asleep without meaning to. They put down the fifth akuma, fixed the city, and barely managed to crawl out of the rain before their bodies rebelled and crashed into the endless dark of unconsciousness. The fell asleep on top of each other, still dirtied and bloodied and bruised. They wake the same way, too tired to have moved much during sleep, limbs awkward and painful and heavy.

 

Adrien wakes for a second time when Plagg rolls off his shoulder and hits the ground with a whine, still asleep himself, but uncomfortable now and cold. He uncurls just enough to scoot back and fumble Plagg off the tile. Cold air immediately sinks to fill the gap where bodies used to touch. Adrien shivers, awake enough now for his muscles to complain both the over use and the cold. He squints at the dreary mist outside of their shelter and rubs at his eyes with the leaden hand not cradling an exhausted kwami.

 

“Chat?” Ladybug groans, voice hoarse. She makes a grumbly sound at the intrusion of cold, damp air. “S’happening?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

They spend a few moments awkwardly shuffling limbs and ineffectually pushing at the ground until they are both upright, mostly propped up against each other, but it is vaguely better than laying in a tangled heap on the ground. At some point during the last few days, Marinette’s hair came out of the pigtails and now resembles an octopus, which is only slightly better than Adrien’s combination of bedhead, product, and bird’s nest. Neither of them have seen a shower in far too long, and their clothes have seen better days, liberally splattered with mud and other bits of akuma fights that just have not been taken care of when Ladybug cleanses the city.

 

“I smell like a trashcan,” Marinette grouses. Adrien manages a few giggles before laughter takes up too much energy and he is left with a lopsided smile tucked against her shoulder. She pokes his side. “Could be worse. Could smell like you.”

 

Chat Noir is very good at snappy comebacks, even when his Lady says the truth. He did, after all, fall in something that smelled like dead fish a while back and even with several days, or maybe that was just several fights, between then and now, the stench sort of lingers. As previous stated, however, even laughter took up too much energy and words are not forthcoming with the snappy replies. So, like the mature cat he is, he levers himself slightly more upright, scoops up Plagg, and deposits the sleepy kwami on her head.

 

Ladybug gives him a halfhearted ‘You are a special kind of idiot, aren’t you,’ look that receives an equally halfhearted smirk.

 

As one, their stomaches growl, gnawing on their spines and cramping in an effort to demand food. It puts a definitive halt to what would most likely have resulting in a shoving match and another nap of frigid tile. Two tiny growls echo their own. Marinette ducks her head, catching the tiny destruction kitten and picking up her shivering red bug. Neither kwami have really woken up, unlike their chosen, which is worrying.

 

“We should prob’ly feed them,” Adrien murmurs, propping his chin on her shoulder to get a better view of the little magical beings. “Feed us.”

 

Marinette nods. The view from the grimy, cracked window is that of gray-washed buildings in varying states of disrepair. It is not one of the areas they typically patrol for akuma victims, as Hawkmoth seems to pick victims of sudden misfortune, rather than the more long-term kinds brought by poverty. Chat and Ladybig have spoken a few times about patrolling in high crime neighborhoods, but they honestly have their hands full with the city proper between school and akuma attacks. Therefore, she does not immediately recognize the area they are in. Adrien looks more lost than she is, considering how often he is not allowed to wander around.

 

“Think we’ll be able to find something if we walk around?” Adrien sounds more than a bit skeptical, so Marinette gives a Ladybug nod and tries to force her legs into something resembling standing. The two kwami wind up in her pockets as she needs both hands and Adrien’s help to achieve the position. Once she’s upright, the pair reevaluates the situation and they somehow manage to drag Adrien up as well.

 

Together, propped up with shoulders and hands clutching too thin jackets, the step into the drizzling rain. Chat makes a grumpy cat noise at the water that makes quick work of sapping away any remaining warmth they had. Ladybug glares at the sky in agreement.

 

They peer over the edge of the building. It is several stories to the ground with plenty of reasonable handholds and window ledges. They take stock of civilian clothing and sleeping kwami and share a matching look of trepidation.

 

Marinette gives a weak smile. “Maybe the door is open?”

 

To be honest, neither de-powered superhero expects much when they manage to stumble to the rooftop door, but, in a stroke of luck, it opens with a rattling creak a little too reminiscent of a horror movie. They manage stairs with about as much grace as a puppy and maybe an eighth the energy between them. It probably takes half an hour just to reach the ground floor, which is just slightly ridiculous considering the building has maybe five stories.

 

Once on the street, Ladybug chooses the direction she thinks home might be in and they start the awkward shuffle down the road.

 

-

 

It is just past two in the afternoon when a couple of kids stumble into Abella’s cafe. They are not kids she has ever seen before, meaning, they aren’t the local brats who wander in trying to look tough and mostly end up quailing under her disapproving raised eyebrow and comments about telling their parents. No, these two look like they’ve come out on the wrong side of an akuma attack, both too pale to be healthy with dark bags under their eyes. Their clothes are filthy, torn, and soaked through. She is fairly certain those are bruises under the dirt.

 

Peter, Abella’s little brother and part time waiter, cautiously steers the two towards a table. He casts her a concerned, mostly helpless look. “I’ll get you two something hot to drink, yeah?” he offers softly. The boy nods. The girl looks close to crying. Peter gives them a gentle smile and backs away.

 

Abella is already preparing two of her largest mugs for hot chocolate. Technically, there isn’t anything other than sandwiches to feed them, the lunch crowd having mostly cleaned out the kitchen, but there might still be some soup, or the means to make some, and there is always bread. She shoves the bread and hot chocolate in Peter’s hands when he makes it to her, shooing him back to the kids while she goes about fixing them a simple soup.

 

Then she freezes.

 

With only the two kids, herself, and Peter in the cafe, it is easy enough to pick up a muttered conversation.

 

“What are we going to do if Hawkmoth attacks?” the boy says, dread lingering beneath the dead tired tone. “We can’t fight like this, Bug. Don’t think we could even hold a transformation.”

 

The girl nods despondently. Peter quietly slips the drinks and bread onto the table and retreats back to the kitchen. The siblings share a wide-eyed, horrified glance.

 

“He’s got to be as tired as we are, Chaton,” the girl replies into her hot chocolate. She sighs into the drink, nudging the boy’s towards him. He, too, takes a sip and winces at the difference in temperatures. “His kwami, at least. Poor thing’s probably just as overworked as ours are.”

 

The thing is, no one in Paris, no one who knows about the superhero duo, really think of the two as people. Humans. Kids. Abella and Peter have been hearing grumbles about the damage done to the city, about how Ladybug hasn’t been cleaning up as she should have, how there are people who remain hurt and injured after an attack. It strikes the siblings now that Ladybug and Chat Noir have been running about Paris all week, fighting monster after created monster, while taking damage and hits themselves. These kids have been fighting monsters day in and day out. They have been getting hurt, likely have not had the time to sleep let alone eat, while the people of Paris do nothing but complain about the inconvenience.

 

Abella stirs the soup she made mostly on autopilot. It would be best left to simmer for a while more, but it is good enough to eat now. She ladles some into large bowls and hands them to Peter. Her bother takes them over with the same gentle care as before, quietly warning the kids that it is hot, and leaves them again. Neither listens to the warning, shoveling rich broth and vegetables into their mouths as fast as possible, hardly taking the time to chew.

 

The girl hisses around a mouthful. She swallows and sticks out her burnt tongue, frowning at it. The boy looks up, concerned, and asks, “Mari?” and takes another bite before something akin to realization slaps him across the face and he stares at the girl with dawning recognition. “Marinette?” he says, and promptly chokes on the forgotten mouthful.

 

Abella and Peter watch as the girl looks up, tongue still sticking out. The confusion morphs into a fond smile and she reaches across the table to, without a doubt, flick the bell that typically resides at Chat Noir’s throat. “Chew your food, you’re an animal,” she says. Only, her fingers brush skin and t-shit, rather than metal and that same look of recognition and realization flutters across her face. “Adrien?”

 

Which is when it occurs to Abella and Peter that the superhero duo do not even allow themselves the luxury of seeing the human side of their partner and this is probably the first time they have met face to face. Which is also when it occurs to them that Marinette and Adrien, Ladybug and Chat Noir, are probably Marinette Dupain-Cheng and Adrien Agreste, two of the kids reported missing a couple days ago, their faces plastered across every news station and the Ladyblog as parents and friends frantically search the city for them.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a step back - aka chapter six in a more cohesive, outsider pov - because while this was supposed to include Friday as well, it got a bit long for what I had in mind. See you next Thursday!

Monday

 

Gabriel knows that he does not spend a great deal of time parenting his son. He knows that he is not up for and best father of the year awards. He certainly isn’t the worst father around, despite Nathalie’s judgmental looks, but he treats his son more like a business associate than a child. Dinners are scheduled for both of them. Gabriel ensures his son maintains a strict diet. There are photo shoots and meetings and quarterly checks on grades that involve a slightly more in depth discussion than the emails Nathalie sends once a week.

 

Gabriel used to be a good father, when his wife was still around. It has been a long time since then, and every day Adrien grows to look more like her - her hair, her eyes, her smile when the boy isn’t projecting for the cameras. He’s soft and emotional, always has been, but it is harder to deal with without his mother around to smooth the sharp edges Gabriel presents to the world.

 

So while Gabriel might not be the best parent, he still takes note when Nathalie informs him that Adrien is not looking well after she sends him to school. It is not a huge deal. The boy does, occasionally, get sick. Granted, his recent doctor visits have said worrying things about his weight, but growing teenage boys are prone towards gaining and shedding weight with sudden increases in height. He makes a note and tells Nathalie to keep an eye on it. If he is still unwell tomorrow, she is to keep him home from school for a day of actual rest.

 

After all, it is probably just a minor cold in combination with stress from school and the akuma attacks that Chloe always seems to have a hand in.

 

It is more worrying when he doesn’t see his son for dinner that night, but the boy is sleeping in his bed at nine when he finally escapes work to check in on him. It’s the last time he will see his son for four days.

 

Tuesday

 

Tom and Sabine have to wake early to start up the bakery. Four in the morning is the absolute latest they can be up, dressed, and downstairs heating up the ovens, laying out cookies prepped the night before, and beginning the first batch of bread. The radio, set to turn on with their alarm, drones on about the most recent akuma attack - another fire-starter by the look of things - and the efforts of Ladybug and Chat Noir for the past hour and a half as they struggle to put down the monster.

 

The attacks are getting more worrying by the day. Yesterday where were three. The last one resulted in Marinette coming home extremely late, dead tired and unable to say much beyond that she was caught too close to Starbright’s attacks. Which explains her absence from school. That fight lasted an unfortunate six hours, the skies and electronics blacked out well past sunset.

 

With the attack on their minds and worry for their daughter thrumming through their veins, Sabine climbs the stairs to Marinette’s room while Tom heads down to start the day.

 

Only, Marinette’s room is empty.

 

Marinette, who came home last night at eight and was asleep shortly thereafter, dead to the world even as Alya stomped through her room with all the righteous fury of an upset best friend, who is never on time because she always sleeps through her alarms, is not in her bed. She is not in the bathroom or the closet under her loft. She is not anywhere in the house or the bakery.

 

An explosion rattles the windows, too close, and red flares up a street over as fire bathes the pre-dawn sky. Chat Noir is tossed from a roof, half catching himself on a lamp post before Ladybug is there, swinging in on her yoyo to land at his side. Tom and Sabine, possibly the only two awake in this neighborhood at this hour, watch as the two superheroes share a look before they launch themselves back into the fight, pushing the akuma away from the residential area and towards a more secluded park.

 

The parents can only hope that their daughter is safe.

 

At seven, Marinette stumbles down into the bakery, looking like she hasn’t slept at all and scaring Tom and Sabine half to death.

 

“Mari!” Tom shouts, abandoning a customer to in favor of rushing to his daughter. Sabine, loading another tray of rolls into the oven, drops the tray on the counted and scoops her the confused girl into her arms as soon as Tom puts her down.

 

“Mom? Dad?” Marinette asks. Her eyes are glazed, like she has a fever, but a quick check proves otherwise. “What’s wrong?”

 

“Sabine went in to check on you when we got up,” Tom says, large hands cradling his daughter’s face. “We couldn’t find you anywhere!”

 

Marinette blinks a few times. Then she offers a half-hearted smile that’s more grimmace than sheepish and says, “I was on the roof. I didn’t here you call for me. The explosions woke me up.” And before either of them can protest, can demand she stay home and sleep like she so desperately needs to, the girl is out the door and weaving her way towards school, leaving Tom and Sabine with a shop full of confused, concerned, and impatient customers.

 

They come to regret letting her leave, regret not abandoning the bakery and chasing after her,dragging her home. Because the next time they see her, it’s friday and she has a police escort.

 

Wednesday

 

The city shuts down.

 

Everyone can tell that something bad is coming, something worse than the normal akuma victim taking their frustrations out on Paris and worse than the spree of forced villains currently running the heroes ragged.

 

Nathalie calls Gabriel as soon as he escapes from his early morning meeting. Adrien never came home last night, hasn’t been seen by anyone since the akuma interrupted photo shoot yesterday afternoon. Gabriel’s chest burns, somewhere between anxiety, rage, and panic, and it only gets worse when the signal cuts out, phones once again offline because of the akuma.

 

He can’t leave. Can’t even get in a car and check any place Adrien might be, hopefully safe. The recent upswing in attacks have had the police issue blanket rules for what citizens are to do. It seemed so reasonable. Yesterday. It seemed reasonable yesterday. Anyone already in a building is to stay there until news of the akuma being neutralized is issued. Anyone not inside is to get there immediately, in a calm an orderly fashion. Ladybug and Chat Noir are to be listened to if they give instructions to anyone near the akuma.

 

Gabriel stares at his phone, blank and unresponsive, at the computer which is the same. His hands tremble.

 

-

 

Marinette never came home. There was an akuma attack at the school yesterday and another in the park not long after. Marinette never came home.

 

Alya did, rushing over as soon as the coast was clear and staying at the bakery overnight, curled up on the couch in Marinette’s room while Tom obsessively cleaned the kitchen and Sabine called everyone she knew in hopes that maybe Marinette was just stranded somewhere when the attacks started.

 

Neither adult slept. They suspect Alya’s parents didn’t get any sleep either, even with the knowledge that their eldest was safe at a friend’s house.

 

In the morning, they send Alya to school. The coast has been clear for most of an hour at that point and they are hoping beyond hope that Marinette can make it to the school if she doesn’t come home. Sabine keeps the bakery sign flipped to closed when Alya texts just before the phones cut out.

 

Marinette isn’t at school.

 

“She’s safe,” Sabine says. They are sitting at the counter in the bakery, cups of cold coffee lingering by their hands. Her voice shakes when she speaks. “She has to be.”

 

Tom closes his eyes and shudders through a breath.

 

-

 

Gabriel has always ensured that the important numbers - business, his son, doctors and the like - are written down just in case something unfortunate happens to his phone. When he started that habit, ‘unfortunate’ only accounted for the typical phone related accidents: dropping, something spilling, an electricity surge frying the circuits. As of last year, ‘unfortunate’ also includes akuma attacks and the high probability of either another Lady Wifi or too much damage done to the infrastructure.

 

This is why, when the phones and computers blink back on at the end of the fight, Gabriel is punching in the number for Adrien’s friend Nino Lahiffe, drumming his fingers over the surface of his desk.

 

“Uh, hello?” The boy sounds younger than he did last time they spoke, but that might just be worry speaking.

 

“This is Gabriel Agreste. Is Adrien with you?”

 

There is a long, ominous silence from the boy, the sound of his class - probable location for a teenager on a school day - picking themselves up in the background. Then, muffled by distance, a girl asks, “Who’s that?”

 

“Adrien’s dad.”

 

“Why’s he calling you?”

 

Silence again, this time longer, and the boy chokes out, “Shit. You don’t know where he is.”

 

“Gimme the phone!” the girl’s voice interrupts sharply. At any other time, Gabriel would despair how the children behave. He is willing to let it slide.

 

“No, Alya!”

 

“Nino, I swear if you don’t give me that phone I am going to push you out a window, so help me -” There is a small scuffle followed by several exclamations of pain. The girl speaks again, this time directly into the phone. “Mr. Agreste? When was the last time you heard from Adrien?”

 

Really, he should be the one asking questions, but Alya Cesaire is a known factor and has had semi-regular contact with Ladybug and Chat Noir. “Nathalie last saw him Monday morning. My photographer saw him Tuesday afternoon. That is the last anyone I know has seen him. His phone is either off or -” dead, he doesn’t say because the connotations are terrible - “drained.”

 

Nino Lahiffe swears not-so-quietly. Alya hushes him. “That match up with what we know. He disappeared yesterday morning with that teleporting akuma hit the school.” She takes a deep breath and Gabriel waits as patiently as he is able, knowing there is more. His stomach feels like lead. Molten lead. Slowly burning its way up his throat and threatening to choke him. “Our other friend. Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

 

“I know of her.”

 

“She’s missing too.” The girl sounds close to tears. Gabriel doesn’t blame her. “She’s been missing since yesterday’s teleporting akuma too.”

 

Thursday

 

Gabriel wraps shaking fingers around his steaming mug of coffee. He does not know if the shaking is from fear or the sleepless night he spent in the Boulangerie Patisserie with Tom and Sabine, all three of them desperately hoping for some information on their children.

 

“They’re smart kids,” Tom tries to reassure. “They would stick together. Follow the rules and wait out the attack.”

 

Normally, Gabriel would question if the man even knew his daughter, a girl who strikes him as someone who only plays lip service to the rules. His son is certainly the same way, and they get along way too well to disagree on such a thing. Also, they are friends with Alya Cesaire who has been repeatedly chased away from Akuma attacks.

 

But, yes, they are smart kids. If they couldn’t get home, they would stay somewhere safe. There will be a break in the fighting soon. They will hear the broadcast with their names on the list of missing. Will see their pictures. Will know that they are being looked for and find a way to signal where they are.

 

They are smart kids.

 

They will be fine.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And reactions! Well, Marinette's reaction. Adrien has other things to worry about than two of his fiends being the same person.

Friday

 

Chat Noir is Adrien Agreste and Adrien Agreste is Char Noir. Adrien is her kitty cat, her Chaton, and she knows him, has gotten to know Adrien better as a person since her realization, know Chat as well as he knows her, knows his insecurities, his hopes. They fit together remarkably well, her Chaton and Adrien. Which is obvious. They’re the same person. Of course they fit. Each persona emphasizing an aspect of his personality. Neither more or less true than the other becuase they are the same. Chat is Adrien and Adrien is Chat.

 

Then, of course, there is the little fact that someone else - not Chat, not Adrien - knows who they are. The cafe owners, two civilians. They know that Chat is Adrien and Adrien is Chat and that Marinette is Ladybug and Ladybug is Marinette. And they promised - promised many things - they wouldn’t tell. Even calling the police, they promised. But how much is a promise worth when en entire city - an entire country, the world even? - wants to know who Ladybug and Chat Noir are? When will the temptation become too much?

 

There are butterflies in her stomach - bad connotations all around, there - and Marinette doesn’t know if that’s because of Adrien, her crush resurfacing at the worst time, bolstered by him being Chat, her partner, reliable, dependable, adorable Chat, or the nerves of someone knowing, someone telling.

 

“Mari,” Adrien says. Chat says. He takes her hand, grip just a little too tight, and her attention snaps to him. He’s pale and shaking and looks a little like he regrets the large amount of food they inhaled before revelations were made. “You need to calm down,” he says and his voice breaks a little. “Please? I need you to calm down.”

 

Because Marinette is Ladybug, and as much as Ladybug relies on Chat, he also relies on her. They’re partners. They support each other. Always. Marinette takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly the way she has learned for her increasing number of anxiety attacks since becoming a superhero. She returns the hold, squeezing too tight, nearly to the point of being painful, but that’s okay. They need that. Physical reassurance that the other is there and not letting go. Not going anywhere.

 

They’re in the back of a police car, resolutely not looking out the windows at the still damaged city, nearly to the bakery where the officer said their families are waiting. Apparently it is Friday and neither of them have seen anyone outside of costume in a long while. To be honest, with the days blurring together into a never ending battle, it’s not a surprise that their civilian lives got shoved to the wayside. It’s not good, certainly, but not a surprise.

 

The cafe owners, siblings Abella and Peter, promised not to tell anyone while explaining that they were reported missing on Wednesday. The police were called, because that is what adults are supposed to do when children are in trouble. Call the police. They were told to drop by the cafe at any time, in costume, out of costume, whenever they needed anything. Let the adults take care of them whenever they had the chance.

 

Before Tikki and Ladybug and Chat and Hawkmoth, Marinette would have gone along with that in a second. Adults were responsible. Adults could be trusted. But Marinette has spent the better part of a year not being able to trust anyone. Friends and strangers alike turn into monsters and literally anyone could be Hawkmoth.

 

“Will you teach me?” Marinette asks suddenly. Adrien looks at her sideways though the curtain of his rain-washed bangs. It’s a look at would have sent her into blushing flails and stuttering not two months ago. Now he just look vulnerable. Nervous. “If things get out,” she pauses, glancing at the officers in the front seats who are doubtlessly listening, “If things get out of hand, will you teach me how to handle it?”

 

Probably, to the officers, it sounds like they were off ‘fooling around’ when they were caught up in the attacks. Possibly that their parents wouldn’t approve of what they were up to. Neither of which is exactly an inaccurate assumption. By some definitions, going out at Ladybug and Chat could be seen as fooling around. Often they would play tag or hide and seek while on patrol, even if that’s not exactly the same type of fooling around. Their parents would almost definitely not approve of their nightly activities should it come out.

 

It’s not what she means, of course, but people are allowed to come to their own, if incorrect, conclusions.

 

Adrien offers a tremulous smile. “Yeah.” He remembers, after all. He remembers a girl scared of responsibility, of danger. He remembers the girl before Ladybug, knows that Marinette doesn’t exactly like attention even if she is a good leader.

 

Then the car is stopping and the officers are opening the doors.

 

“Marinette!”

 

“Adrien!”

 

The kids are barely two steps away from the car, hands still tangled, when they are blindsided, practically tackled by worried parents. Sabine reaches them first, crushing her daughter to her as Tom, just seconds behind, scoops both of them into his arms, never planning on letting go. Gabriel is more unexpected. Looking like he hasn’t slept in days, a scruffy beard on a typically immaculate face, he hauls his son to him like the boy is five years old again.

 

“You’re okay,” the man breathes into his hair.

 

Adrien does not know what to do. He doesn’t know what to think or how to react. He has begged and pleaded with his father for years for some scrap of affection, attention. Anything to know his father loved him more than a room full of things he doesn’t need bought with money he helped his father earn. He wants to bury his face in his father’s chest and cry because he’s scared and hurt. He wants to be the little boy who cried in his daddy’s lap for hours when news came that Mama wasn’t coming home. And yet, his skin crawls under the hug, unused to physical affection that isn’t from Nino or Alya or Chloe or Ladybug-Marinette.

 

To be honest, he’s been half expecting his father to be Hawkmoth. It’s a quiet expectation. The unusual interest in Plagg’s ring. His attitude towards Chat Noir and Ladybug. His general lack of empathy for other people. The tendency towards manipulation.

 

It certainly wouldn’t surprise him if Gabriel turned out to be a criminal mastermind. But…

 

“We’ve been so worried about you two!” Sabine says in the half-warbling way of someone trying not to cry. “We’re going to have to call Alya. And Nino. Gabriel has been here since yesterday morning, hoping you two were together, and you were. We were so worried!”

 

Tom starts babbling over her and Gabriel refuses to let Adrien go, even with his son tense in his arms, not returning the hug and his fingers still clinging to Marinette. A lifeline. Something solid and certain in the maelstrom of emotions tying up his insides. Marinette is Ladybug and she will always have his back.

 

But Labybug is still Marinette who has had loving parents her entire life and she is the first to crack, breath hitching as she breaks down in tears. Adrien, already on the precipice of tears, follows after her, unable to remain calm with his partner’s stability crumbling out from under him.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Probably not the chapter you all were expecting.

He’s always loved butterflies. As a child, he would play with them in his mother’s garden, sneaking up on those resting on her flowers and chasing the airborne ones, adoring the way their wings flitter in the sunlight, the way they twist and glide around every gust of wind. At his father’s apartment in the city, he kept a small planter by his window, watching from his desk as the delicate creatures danced in an out of his room. As he grew, so too did his interest. He would spend hours researching the difference types, largest to smallest. Plain, dull wings and multicolored disguises. Their legs, joints, antenna. Biology, migrating patterns, native and invasive species.

 

He majored in biology, focusing on lepidopterology, and got a job at a small conservatory outside of Paris shortly after graduating.

 

He was planning on spending the rest of his life surrounded by butterflies and flowers. Quiet. Peaceful. His only stress the commute to and from work every day.

 

And it was. Four thirty years, his life was peaceful. Good. Quiet.

 

There was a girl, a young woman, maybe in her mid twenties. Pretty little thing even when she lay dying in his arms, a selfless act of heroism claiming her life in return for his. She asked but one small favor upon her death, and cradled a tiny blue sprite in her hands along with a purple brooch vaguely reminiscent of a butterfly. Please, she said, please send them home.

 

When she died, the little blue sprite disappeared into the peacock brooch pinned haphazardly to the woman’s torn shirt.

 

Send them home, she said, and it was the beginning of his end. Because if the peacock had a tiny sprite, then the butterfly must as well. Butterflies were his life. He pinned it to his collar and grinned at the little purple butterfly. Nooroo. And was denied. Politely, firmly, inexorably denied. Refused.

 

He was not Nooroo’s chosen, not special enough, not good enough. Which meant that somewhere out there, someone else was going to be gifted with the butterfly’s power, someone who wasn’t him.

 

He ripped the pin off and snapped all four delicate wings off one by one. The peacock he packed up and shipped to the address she provided.

 

The creature came in his dreams that night. It came in his dreams every night after for many long years. Insidious, sidling up from from the lightering feeling of resentment, guilt, inadequacy. He was content with his life until he knew there was something more, something better. And it preyed on him, slipping in intrusive thoughts when he wasn’t paying attention. Thoughts that seemed oh so logical at first glance.

 

He always tried to do his best. He was doing his best. He was the best. It wasn’t his fault he failed, messed up, made a mistake. Obviously someone else was incompetent. He’s better than everyone else, always has been. He knew more, worked harder and longer and with more dedication than anyone else.

 

And as the years passed, the creature was no longer just in his dreams and his thoughts, but lurked in the real world. The more he gave in, the more he blamed others, the more real the creature became.

 

He looks up at the moon, hazy through glass and a night sky filled with smoke. He’s almost sixty and around him, Paris burns with what he unleased. It’s his fault. He knows that now. He wasn’t careful, didn’t want to listen when Nooroo said he wasn’t chosen and his actions proved the kwami right. There’s a shadow at his back now and it grins bright white with too many teeth, tangible.

 

Arms wrap around his waist, tepid breath prickling across his skin as the shadows leans on him, unbearably heavy despite not weighing anything at all. His stomach squirms, lurching and clawing at his throat. Its whispers feel like honey dripping cold and viscous down his neck and its laughter, hushed hisses of amused air rake down his spine, vertebrae by vertebrae, with shards of broken glass.

 

He unleashed this into the world. It was locked up. Trapped. And he unleashed it in a fit of greed, of jealousy.

 

It kisses his jaw and the spot burns.

 

Claws tap Nooroo’s brooch, repaired almost a year ago by a talented jeweler, gossamer metal wings carefully soldered on to the back of the locket. The kwami still hasn’t recovered. He’s not able to fly for very long, little wings bearing scars where dark magic and molten metal brought him back into existence.

 

“Aren’t they beautiful?” the creature croons. He looks down from the moon to the array of tiny glowing butterflies imprisoned in glass jars around the conservatory. He spent three decades caring for them and a year destroying everything by infusing his life’s work with the purified akuma Ladybug released. Forty-nine jars, each glowing speck pattered pink and green with remnants of Ladybug’s and Chat Noir’s powers.

 

It’s disgusting, vile, and he’d rather claw out his own eyes than gaze upon what he helped create.

 

In a few minutes he will be Hawkmoth. In a few minutes he will think them beautiful.

 

“Come now,” the creature insists. “Don’t be like that! Look at this! This is what we’ve been striving for, what we’ve had to settle for because you are weak. Pathetic. But that’s okay! All you needed was my help. Yes. That’s all.” A facsimile of a hand pets gently at his hair. Soothing. Mocking. “There now, it’s alright. Here.” It slinks away, picking up the nearest jar and is back in a blink, standing right in front of him with that terrible grin. Long claws unscrew the lid, plucking out the butterfly within. It flutters helplessly within the creature’s grasp. The creature presses delicate wings to his mouth. “Eat.”

 

He’s always been a coward. Or, at the very least, he’s never been brave. A brave man would have looked for help when the creature first appeared. A brave man would have let the creature consume him rather than let it free. A brave man would never open his mouth.

 

He allows the creature to press the butterfly past his lips and into his mouth, tasting the bitter death of a toxic insect more than the putrid shadow lingering on his tongue. One after another, the foreign power curling, rancid, in his stomach.

 

“So good for me. I know you’ve been trying to do as I ask. It’s not your fault you’re incapable. I thought such a simple task would be easy for someone like you, but I suppose I overestimated you”

 

The last butterfly is offered and he opens his mouth to be fed. Maybe, hopefully, he will be dead by the end of the day. A nameless man aged beyond his years who lived a quiet life in a butterfly conservatory.

 

The creature slides into him, a shock of ice on fevered skin, pain akin to hitting frozen finger flooding in after. Lightning and bright light it comes, pushing, pulling, ripping as his consciousness, his conscience, his sense of self and memories, and he fight, instinctive, more animal than man, against the shredding teeth and wicked burn of electricity lighting up every single nerve in his body. Worse comes when the creature reaches the new power, the stolen power clustered in his stomach, but he has no mouth to scream with, the monster laughing inside and out, howling triumph to a room full of empty jars as he drowns in a lake of fire, unable to burn and lost to wave after wave of flame.

 

Hawkmoth stands, grin too wide.

 

“Nooroo, darling,” he coos and feels the kwami shiver, tucked into the joint of a table leg. “Wings rise~”


End file.
